


On the Run

by BeccaAnne814



Series: Bucky Barnes x Reader Series [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Guns, Knives, Sadness, Violence, cursing, endgame spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeccaAnne814/pseuds/BeccaAnne814
Summary: After the events in DC, Bucky goes on the run from both HYDRA and every other government agency that has a debt to settle with him.  Once he’s in Romania, he finally feels like he can breathe, but looking over his shoulder had become second nature to him.  And then he meets you.  Can he trust you with his secret, or are you just another person looking to cause him trouble?
Relationships: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Series: Bucky Barnes x Reader Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/774297
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	On the Run

**Bucky Barnes x Reader**

**Summary** – After the events in DC, Bucky goes on the run from both HYDRA and every other government agency that has a debt to settle with him. Once he’s in Romania, he finally feels like he can breathe, but looking over his shoulder had become second nature to him. And then he meets you. Can he trust you with his secret, or are you just another person looking to cause him trouble?

**Warnings** – Angst, Violence, Knives, Guns, Sadness, Fluff, Endgame Spoilers…probably a curse word or two

**Word Count** – 12.5K

**Notes:** Parts 1 - 13 of 13

** _**Updated December 15, 2019**_ **

_ ** [Masterlist](https://beccaanne814.tumblr.com/post/174989754188/masterlist) ** _

[[MORE]]

He was cold and wet, and had no idea what to do. One of the standard protocols his handlers had ingrained in him was that as soon as the mission was complete, he was supposed to return for a mission report.

But he hadn't completed his mission.

He'd tried, but he knew without being told explicitly that anything other than complete compliance to the orders he'd been give would be accepted. His mission had been to kill the target—the one who'd called himself Steve—but the other man had sparked something within him, something he couldn't shake. He'd called him by name.

Bucky.

Was that who he was?

He wanted to find somewhere to hide so he could tend to his wounds and try to wrap his mind around the jumbled thoughts that were desperately trying to push through his protocols. Memory wasn't a word he was ready to ascribe to the images that flitted across his mind's eye. But if not memories, what were they? 

As the hours turned into days, he gradually began to get a grasp on his situation. He'd managed to dig out day old papers from the wastebaskets of coffee shops to get a better understanding of the world he'd been so rudely thrust into. 

When he'd seen the face of the man who'd given him his orders to kill Steve, ice had flowed through his veins. His instincts kicked in and he felt an overwhelming urge to seek out his handlers if only to feel a sense of order again. Being on his own with no direction was unsettling, but he somehow knew that going back to the life he'd known wasn't an option for him anymore.

He'd read further and discovered that he was a key topic in the news reports. They'd called him the Winter Soldier and the list of suspected deaths from his hands were recounted in great detail. HYDRA was the name of the organization alleged to have pulled his strings, and as he read stories of their sordid history, a sick feeling settled into his gut.

The more he learned, the more frequent the memories began to manifest. It had gotten to the point that he couldn't sleep through the night without having at least half a dozen nightmares. He didn't have the luxury of thinking that these dreams were just figments of his imagination. After the horrors that had been outlined in the papers, he couldn't deny that the images that haunted him at night were the atrocities he'd been forced to commit over the years.

If the papers could be believed, he'd been a pawn of HYDRA for seventy years. Memories of being encased in a coffin like structure and a bone-chilling cold made him wonder if the reports were accurate—even though it seemed impossible that he could be close to a hundred years old. 

The papers kept drawing out the stories, and while he knew their goal was to sell more copies, he couldn't complain since he was gaining valuable information that he'd otherwise not have access to. He'd eventually learned that Steve was expected to make a full recovery, and while that eased his conscience a bit, it was the backstory that accompanied the article that caught his attention.

He wasn't the only man to have mysteriously survived for decades.

Sneaking into the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum wasn't the best idea for a fugitive from the law, but he knew the answers he needed were located in that building. Getting past the elderly guard with the darkly tinted glasses had been a breeze, but he realized after just a few moments that he hadn't truly been prepared to handle the onslaught of memories and emotions he would experience in the Captain America exhibit.

Everywhere he turned he found yet another photograph of a man that looked eerily like himself. He still wasn't ready to admit that he was the Bucky Barnes that Steve thought he was, but the longer he stayed, the harder it was for him to deny.

He watched a video of Steve with the Bucky the Captain had remembered and he felt a tug. As he watched the man who looked like him say something, he began to whisper the words aloud. In an instant, he was transported back in time as the memory of that moment came back in startling clarity. He could hear the sound of Steve's laugh, and smell the scent of gunpowder that seemed to permeate their clothes. It had been Autumn, and there was a slight bite to the air that chilled his skin.

Too overcome with memories and emotions, he walked away and fell in with the flow of people as they headed to the next part of the exhibit. The crowd parted and he was suddenly face to face with a tall granite memorial—to him.

As he began to read the biography, a different emotion began to course through his system. His days of feeling lost disappeared in an instant as anger began to rise up from within him. HYDRA had taken his entire life from him. His friends, his family—everything—had been stolen out from under his feet so they could further their evil agenda. He'd been nothing more than a means to an end for them. 

He wanted to make them pay for what they'd done, but he knew that he authorities were doing their best to mop up the mess in the wake of the massive release of data. The woman responsible—Natasha Romanoff—had been another face that had sparked a moment of recognition. He had a hard time reconciling the name to the face in the papers, but he just assumed it was another effect of the torture HYDRA had subjected him to for decades. Regardless of who she was, he owed her more than she'd ever know. Her actions to out HYDRA to the world had enabled him to learn secrets he might never have been privy to otherwise.

He pushed down his anger and slowly fell in with a tour group that was leaving the museum. There were no more answers to be found in the exhibit, and he'd already stayed in D.C. longer than he should have. He had no idea where he'd go next, but he knew if he wanted to stay out of a prison cell, he'd have to stay on the move. There wasn't a single place in the world that would be safe for him, but he hoped that eventually they'd stop looking for him and he could start to rebuild the shattered pieces of his life. He had no idea how long it would take, but until he was sure he held all the answers, he'd forever be. . .

On the Run

When he'd left D.C. he'd had no clear idea of where he needed to go next, but an urge deep within himself seemed to be steering him toward Europe. He'd learned from the Smithsonian exhibit that the war he'd fought in with Steve had taken place across the Atlantic, and he wondered if more answers might be found on that continent.

He'd stowed away on a cargo ship heading to Spain. From there, he'd made his way to countries and towns that had been mentioned in the memorial. There were more museums and more exhibits to study, but eventually he began to put the pieces of his life back together. 

Once he'd landed in Europe, he'd felt the need to constantly hide lessen as he realized the people on this side of the Atlantic really didn't care what was happening in America. If he saw a newspaper with even a brief mention of the events in D.C., it was buried in the middle of the inner pages where most people would never be bothered to read about it. With the threat of discovery fading every day, he'd begun to relax a little. He'd taken a few odd jobs along his journey, so he'd been able to stop stealing everything he'd needed.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, he discovered that his memories were becoming too much for him to keep straight. He'd used the money he'd earned unloading cargo in one already forgotten city to buy a small black covered journal and some pens. His nightmares were often in Russian, and he found that trying to translate them into English altered them too much, so his journals had become a mixture of the two languages. It seemed fitting in a way that his life before HYDRA was in one language and his life with his captors was in another.

Once he'd plumbed the depths of information about the war, Captain America, and the Howling Commandos, he'd begun to aimlessly wander the continent. There was no clear destination in mind, but he felt as though something—or someone—was guiding him somewhere in particular.

When he'd gotten off the train in Bucharest, it was as though the voice in his mind constantly telling him to run had gone silent. The city was large enough for him to blend in without being noticed, and he'd discovered—as he had in numerous other countries—he could speak the language fluently. He hated to feel grateful to HYDRA for anything, but their extensive training had made it possible for him to assimilate into any culture seamlessly. They'd intended it to aid them in their cause, but it had the added benefit of helping him hide anywhere he found himself.

He'd found steady work with a construction crew, and had even gone so far as renting a squalid little apartment in the middle of the city. His landlady was an old Romanian woman with wiry grey hair that was perpetually wound into a tight bun that sat on the top of her head. She was a short, but sturdy, old woman that could bring a grown man to his knees with nothing more than a glare, and he adored her. Her gruff exterior hid a soft and kindly heart that he'd instantly recognized and admired. He wasn't sure what her story was, but he had a feeling that just like him, she'd seen her fair share of turmoil and hardships throughout her life.

She mostly left him to himself, and never complained about the nightmares he was sure the other tenants were well aware of after a few weeks. The rent was paid on time, and he'd always make sure to bring her a few pieces of fresh fruit whenever he stopped by the market. In return, she'd given him old books her rheumy eyes could no longer read, and a few odds and ends for his tiny kitchen—a spatula, an old dishcloth, and a pitcher that had lost its lid years ago. 

It seemed as though he was making a home for himself, but it still didn't feel right to him. He'd done his best to settle down, but the threat of someone finding out who he was lingered in the back of his mind. Being away from America didn't mean that he was safe. The crimes he'd committed while he'd been with HYDRA had spanned the globe, and if he were ever caught, dozens of countries would be battling over who would receive the honor of prosecuting him first.

The nightmares that plagued him at night also haunted his thoughts throughout the day. It took nothing more than a sound, or a flash of light to send him careening back into his memories to relive yet another horror. He wanted nothing more than to purge his mind of the memories, but that was the reason he was in this situation in the first place. HYDRA had wiped his mind so many times, there were days he wondered how he was still able to put together a coherent thought.

Some days were worse than others, but there were a few days that he could almost forget his former life. Those were the most dangerous days, though. On those occasions, he'd let down his guard, and then something would inevitably set him off. It was harder to find his balance again when he wasn't prepared, so he tried his best to always be vigilant, and never let himself get too complacent. But he couldn't help the thought that nagged him day and night—

Would he ever find peace?

"Don't do it," he muttered to himself as he stopped near the top of the staircase. 

He could see the newest tenant struggling to open her door. She was carrying two large brown paper bags full of groceries, and she couldn't see to fit her key into the lock. 

She'd moved in a few days prior, and he'd immediately taken notice of her. He knew that some might not call her beautiful, but there was an aura about her that drew attention to her whether she wanted it or not. She'd smiled at him and introduced herself the first day she'd seen him returning to his apartment after work.

"I'm YN," she'd told him as she'd held out her hand.

He'd still been wearing his gloves from the worksite, so he'd quickly slipped off the right one and taken her extended him. "I'm James," he'd said, feeling the half-truth sitting heavily in his gut.

Since that day, he'd gone out of his way to avoid her. She seemed like a lovely woman who was down on her luck, and he instinctively knew she didn't need any more trouble in her life. And he was nothing but trouble.

Some nights he could hear her softly singing to herself through the thin wall that separated his apartment from hers. He knew if he could hear her, then she no doubt had heard him as well. He tried not to think about her, or what she must assume about him, but it was as though she was a siren that called to him from the rocky shore. According to lore, sirens were the sailor's downfall, but for her, the opposite was true—he would be the one to bring about her destruction if he wandered too close.

That thought flitted through his mind as he stood in the shadows of the stairwell and debated with himself. She obviously needed help, and he was right there. Would it be the end of the world if he performed one act of kindness for her?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked up the last few steps and called out to her. The look on her face as she turned to greet him sent warmth spreading throughout his entire body. Her smile was bright and welcoming, and he couldn't help but wonder if she'd still smile at him like that if she knew what he'd done in his past. Would she be so willing to allow him to hold her groceries if she'd known how many lives had been taken by the hands that were now helping her?

"Thank you, James." She reached for the bag as she nudged open the now unlocked door with her hip.

"You're welcome."

YN hesitated for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as she mulled over her next words. "I'm making pasta tonight." She paused and shook her head with a laugh. "I'm hopeless when it comes to measuring the noodles, so I always end up with way too much food. Would you be interested in joining me for dinner? I can't promise that it'll be the best thing you'll ever eat, but it'll be better than something out of a bag."

He knew he should be focusing on the fact that she'd asked him to dinner, but her last comment was the one that had stuck with him. Narrowing his eyes, he gave her a wary glance.

Sensing that she'd said something wrong, she mentally went over her last words. Realization dawned on her as her eyes grew wide in understanding. Nodding toward his apartment next door, she said, "Thin walls. I can hear the crumpling of the bag whenever you open it. I promise I'm not trying to eavesdrop. . ."

He relaxed and nodded his head. He was painfully aware of how thin the walls were, but it also concerned him that she could hear every single thing he did. He'd have to be more careful in the future.

"So," she continued after a beat. "Dinner?"

"I'd love to." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them, but he couldn't be sorry for his rash decision. Her smile instantly brightened and he knew in that moment, he would move heaven and earth if it meant making her happy.

But was it wise?

No.

He was playing with fire by even speaking to her. He was a killer—a monster—and she deserved better. As for him, he deserved nothing. He'd committed too many atrocities in his life to ever deserve happiness, but for one brief moment, he wanted to know what that particular emotion felt like again. All he had was a memory—a memory from a life he barely remembered—and he wanted to know what happiness felt like at least once in his life.

Or that's what he told himself. He had no way of knowing that happiness was so addictive, or how hard it would be to deny himself the joy he felt when he was around her. Pain and suffering was all he had to offer her in return, and he feared the day his past would catch up to him and ruin the perfect little world he'd created with her.

He'd tried to keep his distance from her since she'd invited him over to dinner because he knew he was only asking for trouble. It was bad enough that his landlady had wormed her way under his skin, but now this beautiful woman that cooked like a five star chef was slowly slipping under his defenses. 

As they strolled along the cobblestoned walkway of the market side by side, he couldn't help but think that she might be exactly what he needed. The authorities would be looking for a loner—an outcast—not someone who went shopping with a lovely young woman that had a smile permanently etched on her face. The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that she was the perfect cover for him.

But he knew that wasn't the only reason he allowed the budding relationship to continue.

He was falling for her. And if he wasn't mistaken, she was falling for him as well. He knew he should keep her at arm's length. If she ever found out who he was—or what he'd done for HYDRA—she'd be horrified. There were times when he tried to tell her, but she'd just shake her head and change the subject. Her past was as much of a secret as his, and she seemed to be more interested in living in the present.

"Should we get some apples for Olga?" YN asked as she looked over the selection of Radenseni apples on display.

James turned from the bin of plums and picked up one of the apples. "She mentioned wanting to bake a pie this week. Maybe if we take her a dozen or so, she'll bake one for us as well."

YN's face split into a wide grin. "I like the way you think."

James grabbed a bag and began to pick through the bin to find the best pieces of fruit. Trusting him to find the ripest ones, YN wandered off to look at the array of vegetables. The weather had started to turn cooler and she was eager to make a hearty stew to ward off the chill that had begun to creep in through the cracks of her dilapidated apartment.

"Ready?" James asked once he'd purchased the fruit.

YN handed the merchant her money and took the bag of vegetables she'd chosen. "I am now."

As she and James walked back to their apartment building, she fought the urge to slip her hand into his. She knew he was sensitive when it came to his hands, so she didn't push. So far, she'd seen him take off his right glove, but never the left. There was a story there, but she was patient enough to wait for him to trust her enough to share it. She couldn't blame him, though. Her secrets were carefully guarded as well, but the longer she knew him, the more she wanted to bare her soul.

James knocked on Olga's door and waited for the old woman to answer. A small crack appeared as she peeked out, but when she spotted YN and James, a bright—but almost toothless—smile spread across her face. Opening the door, she quickly ushered them into her home.

"We brought you some apples," James told her as he held up the bag. "You said something about baking a pie."

Olga's smile faded slightly. "I'm afraid it's going to have to wait. I broke my only knife a few days ago, and I won't be able to buy a new one until everyone starts paying their rent next month."

YN watched James' brow furrow. She wasn't sure what he planned to do, but she'd be willing to bet that it would be something to ensure he got his pie before the week was out.

He reached under his coat and pulled out something from the small of his back. "I know it's not a paring knife, but it's sharp."

Olga gasped when she saw the military grade blade that lay in James' outstretched hand. She quickly made the sign of the cross on her body and began speaking in rapid Romanian that YN struggled to understand.

"If you play with a knife, the angels will run from you."

James took a deep breath and sighed. "You don't really believe in those old superstitions, do you?"

Olga glared at him and shook her finger in his face. "You'd do well to heed my words. Trouble will follow you if you turn your back on the old ways." She spat on the ground and grimaced. "Take your blade and be gone with you."

YN could tell James was trying not to laugh as he held out the bag of apples.

"I guess you want me to take these with me, too?" he asked as he tried and failed to keep the humor out of his voice.

Olga reached out and grabbed the fruit. "The apples can stay."

She shooed them out the door and slammed it shut behind them. YN heard the multitude of locks being thrown as she and James headed for the stairs.

"What do you think she meant?"

James shook his head. "I don't know. I know one thing, though—the angels ran from me a long time ago."

He'd tried to make the comment lighthearted, but YN saw through the ruse. His past haunted him—she'd heard his nightmares though the walls enough nights to know that much was true—but she wondered if he truly thought he didn't deserve redemption for the sins he'd committed in his past.

As the days turned into weeks, YN found it harder and harder to keep pretending that there weren't secrets between her and James. Their relationship had remained as platonic as a couple of school children, but she understood his reluctance for anything more intimate. His nightmares plagued him most nights, and there were days when he was so haunted by his past that he could barely function.

She wanted to ask him to confide in her, but she knew she'd have to be willing to reveal the skeletons in her own closest first. But if she told him the truth, it would most likely have the opposite effect. So instead of pushing, she waited patiently until the day he felt like he could trust her completely. She promised herself that if he ever shared his past with her, she'd come clean about her own questionable history.

Olga had finally forgiven him, and once she'd bought a new kitchen knife, he'd gotten his pie. Their lives seemed to be going smoothly, but YN knew better than to become complacent. She figured that James had at least a half dozen contingency plans, but she also a few of her own. He possessed all the signs of a man on the run, and the longer he stayed in one place, the more likely it was that he'd be found. She just hoped that she could protect him in some way once that day came.

He'd always come over to her place for dinner, so the first time she'd ever seen the inside of his apartment, she'd known beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was former military. To most people, the arrangement of his furniture wouldn't draw attention, but YN immediately saw the tactical advantages he'd carefully orchestrated.

The windows were all covered with newspapers. The evening sun shone brightly through their side of the building, so it would be easy to assume he just wanted to keep out the light. YN knew otherwise. He covered the windows so no one could see in. Curtains, and even blinds, would have cracks, but the thick layers of newsprint left no room for anyone to peer in.

The second-hand table was old and scarred, but as YN's eyes took in it's placement amongst the other furniture, she saw the reason he'd chosen that particular one. There was a slight indention around the door leading to the hallway that could never be considered a hallway, or even an alcove, but it was enough. If YN's mental calculations were correct, the table would wedge perfectly in the space, blocking that entrance. 

The bare and soiled mattress that rested on the floor in front of the small loveseat was positioned just beneath the largest window. It wouldn't hold up long against an attack, but it would serve as a makeshift shield until he could find cover somewhere else.

She'd finally forced herself to tear her eyes away from the safeguards he'd set up and focus on the other parts of the apartment that spoke to his character. He'd told her that most of the items he possessed had been given to him by Olga, and she could tell how much those small gestures had meant to him by the care in which he kept them.

Her entire appraisal of the apartment had taken only a few minutes, but she could tell he was getting anxious. Letting her into his personal space was a huge step for him, and she needed to tread carefully. The last thing she needed to do was tip him off that she'd noticed more than the causal observer. Giving him a smile, she sat on the small sofa and patted the seat next to her.

"Sit and tell me about your day."

He breathed a sigh of relief and did as she requested. Her curious gaze had made him nervous for a moment, but everything about her—her eyes, her smile, and even her posture—gave off an air of ease. He was sure he was just imagining things, but it was his nature to assume the worst. Maybe it was time to put aside his misgivings and trust her.

He wanted to tell her who he was, but he just couldn't find the words. Every time he tried to be honest, she'd smile at him and his resolve would crumble. Was it so wrong of him to want to see her smile at him without any traces of fear in her eyes? Once she knew who he really was, she'd never look at him the same, and he wasn't sure he could handle that on top of everything else in his life.

He'd continued to write in his notebooks, and once he'd settled down in Bucharest and developed a routine, his journal entries had increased. Now he had a backpack hidden beneath the floorboards with almost a dozen filled notebooks in it. As he finished each journal, he'd add it to the stockpile and start a new one. He shouldn't have been shocked by the number of memories he possessed—he'd been alive for almost a hundred years.

His time with HYDRA still wasn't crystal clear, but they'd done what they could to keep him disoriented and confused so he'd be more compliant. The memory wipes had been effective, but they hadn't fully erased everything locked deep within his mind. He wanted to focus on his life before the war, but his subconscious saw fit to reveal its secrets in its own way and not according to his wishes.

YN seemed to be sympathetic when it came to his nightmares. Once he'd invited her over that first night, she hadn't hesitated to come over after a nightmare and fix him a cup of tea to help calm his nerves. He never spoke of the horrors he saw while he slept, but she was an intelligent woman. She'd figured out that he had demons haunting him and there was nowhere he could run to get away from them.

He took solace in the fact that she seemed to be on the run herself. In all the time he'd known her, he'd never learned her last name. He hadn't offered his, either, so he hadn't pressed for the information. She had secrets of her own, so she was content to leave well enough alone when it came to his past.

As he sat on the couch with her in his arms, he wondered if it was time for him to tell her the truth. He'd had a particularly horrific nightmare the night before and she'd come over like she always did. But this time, she'd fallen asleep and her head had dropped onto his shoulder before he'd realized what had happened. It felt good to hold her in the crook of his arm, so he'd selfishly held onto her. Now it was morning and they both needed to go to work.

Gently nudging her shoulder, he whispered her name. "YN. You need to wake up, doll."

She groaned and stretched as she slowly came awake. "What time is it?"

"Just after dawn."

She stifled a yawn and looked toward the windows covered with newspapers. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but now that she realized that James was holding her, she couldn't be angry with herself for letting down her guard.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep."

Now that she was awake, it felt awkward for him to be holding her. She must have sensed his growing discomfort because she pulled away from him without meeting his eyes.

"It's no problem," he told her as he ran a hand through his hair. "It's my fault you were up at all last night."

She turned and faced him again. Her mouth was set in a hard line as she took a ragged breath. "I know I shouldn't push, but are you ever going to trust me enough to. . ."

Her question was interrupted by the sound of someone banging on a door down the hall. "Police. Open up."

With eyes wide with panic, she reached out for James. He ignored her outstretched hand as he quickly rose from the sofa and grabbed his knife from the makeshift bookshelf by the door.

"Stay behind me," he whispered as his body poised for a fight.

YN moved to stand beside him and reached down into her boot to pull out her own knife. When James looked over at her in awe, she quietly sighed. "I know who you are. . .James Buchanan Barnes."

He was saved from having to answer her as the sounds of screams filled the hallway outside the apartment.

_I know who you are. . .James Buchanan Barnes._

Those words echoed throughout his head over and over again as he waited for the police to come banging on his door next. He knew he should grab his bag and make a run for it, but something held him back.

Her.

One part of him wanted to protect her, but the other part wanted answers more now than ever. She'd known who he was all along and hadn't said a word to him. Had she known before she'd met him, or had she figured it out after? Did it matter?

The sounds of a struggle could be heard in the hallway, and then Olga's booming voice drowned out everything else. For such a small woman, she could quiet a room with ease. Eventually, the commotion died down and the building settled back into a tensed silence.

Once he was sure that the danger had passed, he turned the knife on his so-called friend. "Who are you?"

She backed away quickly with her hands held up in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you, Bucky," she told him as she carefully laid the knife down in a show of good faith.

His eyes narrowed at her use of his name. "I'll ask you one more time. Who are you?"

"My name is YN," she said as calmly as she could. The look in his eye was lethal and for the first time since she'd met him, she saw the killer HYDRA had painstakingly crafted for over seventy years. "I was an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. before the organization fell two years ago."

He took a step toward her. "Why are you spying on me?"

"I'm not spying on you. I promise."

"Then what are you doing exactly?"

She shook her head and let out an exasperated breath. "I don't know. Once S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, I had no idea what to do next. I knew the Captain would be looking for you. . ."

"You mean Steve?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not exactly on a first name basis with the guy. . ."

"Does he know I'm here?"

"No," she said quickly, trying to reassure him that he was safe. "No one knows where you are, and that's the way it's going to stay as long as I have anything to say about it."

"Why?"

She was growing tired of his interrogation. "Can you stop pointing that knife at me so I can explain? I haven't tried to hurt you before. Why would I start now?"

He weighed her words carefully and realized that she was right. Lowering the knife, he relaxed a bit, but refused to sit beside her on the small sofa again.

"I read all the reports Natasha Romanoff dumped on the internet," she began. "I guess I just wanted to know who you were."

"How did you find me when no one else could?"

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Because I'm smarter than everyone else. They're all trying to figure out where the Winter Soldier would go, but I focused on Bucky Barnes instead."

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"You didn't know who you were," she explained with a sorrowful look. "I had a hunch you would try to piece together your life, so I started looking for places you might go to find answers. I didn't have much luck in America, but I struck gold once I got to Europe. Finding people who'd seen you, or spoken to you wasn't easy, but eventually I was able to track you to Romania."

"And now?"

Now that she'd spilled her guts, she was at a loss for words. "Now, I don't know anymore. I guess I needed to feel like I had a sense of purpose. . ."

"So, I'm just a mission to you," he finished for her.

She rose from the loveseat and walked over to him. He tensed up when she reached for his left hand, but he didn't stop her from removing the glove.

"You stopped being a mission to me the moment I met you," she said as she held his metal hand in both of hers. "I'd originally thought I could be the hero that brought down the Winter Soldier, but that's not who you really are. All I want to do is help you." She paused and looked deep within his eyes. "If you'll let me."

He'd told her he needed time to think, so she'd gone back to her apartment. Work was the last place he needed to be, so instead he went to the market, but that was a mistake. A thousand pair of eyes seemed to be focused on him, and he couldn't shake the sense that something wasn't right.

When he saw the man at the news cart drop everything and run, Bucky knew his instincts were right. Reading the front page of the paper was all it took for him to realize that everything was unraveling faster than he'd anticipated.

He rushed home and ran into YN as she was coming down the stairs. "Someone's set me up."

"What?" she asked as her eyes grew wide.

"I'm not sure how long it'll take them to get here, but I have to go." He paused as he debated his next words. "Are you going with me?"

"Try and stop me," she said as a smirk lifted the corner of her mouth.

"Go to Olga's and wait for me," he said as he steered her toward their landlady's door. "I need to grab my bag. Is there anything you need from your place?"

She shook her head as he knocked on Olga's door. "Hurry."

He waited until she was safely inside of the landlady's apartment before he raced up the stairs. Time was a luxury he didn't have, but he hated the thought of leaving his only link to his past behind. 

When he reached his door and found it slightly ajar, he braced himself for what he would find on the other side. As he slipped noiselessly through the opening, it took it a moment to process what he was seeing.

The man in the red, white, and blue uniform was asking him questions, but he was in shock and could barely form the answers Steve demanded. He'd known the moment he saw his old friend that it was over. There would be no more running for him. There'd be no time for him to find out if what was between him and YN was anything more than friendship.

All he'd wanted was to find a place to rest, but that was beyond him now. It didn't matter how fast he ran, or where he went, he'd never find peace. Slipping off the glove that covered his left hand, he looked back up at Steve.

"It always ends in a fight."

Since the day in Bucharest when everything had gone to hell, YN had lost track of Bucky. It was as though he truly was the ghost the intelligence community had rumored him to be with the way he vanished into thin air.

She'd been able to follow the initial trail that had led from Romania to Germany, but by the time she'd caught up to them, Bucky and Steve were long gone. The news anchors were having a heyday with the story of the Avengers turning on one another and completely destroying an airport, but like always, she read between the lines to find the real story.

Steve Rogers.

Sam Wilson.

Clint Barton.

Scott Lang.

Wanda Maximoff.

Natasha Romanoff.

Bucky Barnes.

Seven people had disappeared without a trace in the aftermath of Germany, but the new releases the American government were issuing didn't add up. Natasha Romanoff had been one of the first Avengers to sign the Sokovia Accords, so it didn't make sense for her to be unaccounted for. 

YN dug a little deeper and found videos recorded by kids too stupid to evacuate the airport, and after enduring a raging headache trying to analyze the shaky, blurry images, she finally got the answers she'd been looking for.

Natasha Romanoff had violated the Accords and helped Steve Rogers escape Germany with Bucky.

But where had they gone?

For two years, YN searched, but to no avail. She'd hoped when it had become public knowledge that Scott Lang and Clint Barton had accepted plea deals and been put on house arrest that information on the other missing superheroes would come to light, but she was wrong. She was still stuck at square one with no idea where to go next.

And then Thanos had paid Earth a visit.

YN hadn't been aware of the five years that had passed without her, but she wasn't the only one. Apparently that's what happens when half the universe is wiped out of existence. For most of the world, waking up one day to realize that five years had passed them by made people rethink their purpose in life.

But not YN.

Waking up and realizing that she'd lost another five years did nothing but piss her off. A quick internet search showed that Bucky had been a victim of the Decimation as well, so at least those lost years didn't set her further back in her mission to find him.

Since the battle with Thanos and the Black Order, the Avengers had been thrust into the spotlight yet again. Heroes had been lost, but the ones that remained seemed to be willing to put the past behind them and move forward together. The Accords had been amended numerous times over the past seventy years, so all of the returned heroes promptly signed them and resumed their roles as protectors of the earth.

Which was good news for her since Bucky was one of them.

Tracking him down in New York had been far easier than tracking him across Europe, but now that she'd found him, she was at a loss for what to do next.

Her years of S.H.I.E.L.D. training had prepared her to be both a spy and an assassin—depending on what the mission called for—but she was in uncharted territory now. Bucky had wanted her to run with him in Bucharest, but then he'd disappeared for two years without a trace. Would he even want to see her? Did he even remember her after Zemo had triggered the Soldier again?

As she stood on the subway platform thirty yards from him, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd even know who she was. Had she been wasting her time all these years, or were the feelings they'd developed for one another still there simmering beneath the surface?

When Bucky boarded the train, YN hadn't thought twice before following him. She hadn't been paying attention to which line they were on, or even which direction they were headed—she was focused solely on him.

She knew it was sloppy to be so unaware of her surroundings, but Bucky'd had that effect on her from the first moment she'd seen him in Bucharest. There was a magnetic energy about him that drew people in and made them forget anything else existed in the world save for him. At least she'd had enough sense to get onto a different train car than him.

When the train stopped at the second station and Bucky still hadn't make a move to get off, she slipped out and walked past his car before sliding through the closing doors of the car right behind his. She had no idea if he'd made her, but it never hurt to be too cautious, especially with someone as highly trained as the Winter Soldier.

They were well into Brooklyn before Bucky finally exited the train and made his way up the stairs to the street. YN kept a reasonable distance between them as she used all of the evasive techniques she'd learned at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy to keep herself off his radar.

She knew he was originally from Brooklyn, so she wondered if he was simply taking a walk down memory lane on a beautiful Thursday morning, but then he made a turn into the Cypress Hills National Cemetery. Immediately feeling like she was intruding on a private moment, she considered turning around and heading back into Manhattan, but she'd come this far.

Taking a deep breath, she waited for a few beats and followed him through the wrought iron gates. Taking cover behind a tree, she watched him cross the grounds as if he knew exactly where he was going. The cemetery was dotted with a few places for her to hide from his sight, but for the most part it was a wide open space and all he had to do was turn around to spot her.

But would that really be the worst thing that could happen?

He stopped at a small white headstone with his hands in his pockets and looked down at the name engraved in the granite block. YN was too far away to see who's grave he was visiting, but even from this distance, she could tell he didn't seem all that distraught.

With her back against the tree she rested her head against the bark and took a deep breath. She could tail him for days and learn nothing more than she knew at the moment, or she could take this opportunity—with virtually no one around to interfere—and go talk to him. Her mind told her to leave and formulate a plan with exit routes and contingency options, but her heart was screaming at her to just walk up to him and say hello.

Blaming it on the years she'd spent marching to the beat of her own drum, she allowed her heart to have its way. Steeling her nerves, she pushed off from the tree and began walking across the well-manicured lawn to where Bucky stood as still as a statue. 

"Either you're getting sloppy, or I'm just used to looking for your face in every crowd," Bucky said softly, causing her to stop a few feet away from him.

Tears burned the backs of her eyelids as a smile spread across her face. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me again," she said once she was sure her voice wouldn't crack. "Or if you even remembered me."

He turned to face her, and in that moment YN knew without a shadow of a doubt that Bucky Barnes remembered every moment they'd shared in Bucharest. He looked back down at the headstone, and her eyes followed his gaze. When she read the name on the tombstone, she inhaled sharply.

James Buchanan Barnes 1917 – 1945

"Not everyone gets to die twice and live to tell about," Bucky joked as he shook his head.

"Do you want to?"

He turned to her with a questioning look in his eye. "Want to do what, doll?"

"Tell me about it," she answered as her breath caught in her throat.

Bucky thought about it for a moment before he made up his mind. "I'm tired of hiding in the shadows. Maybe it's finally time for me to stop running."

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Author's Note: Thank you for reading Day 241 of my writing challenge! I hope you enjoyed it! Well, we know he remembers her, but what now? He said he's tired of running, so do you think they'll be able to finally find the happiness they both deserve? I look forward to your comments, and if you enjoyed this part, please consider voting!

Bucky had suggested a tiny coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street near the cemetery so they'd have a place to sit and talk for a while. It was still odd for both of them to be around one another again since their time together in Bucharest had been fraught with danger at any given time.

"So what happened to you after Thanos?" Bucky asked once they'd gotten their orders and sat at a table in the back of the shop.

"Dust in the wind," she said with a shrug. "Same as you and half the universe."

He nodded. "Well, that's good." He saw her brow furrow and immediately regretted his choice of words. "Not that you died, just that you didn't spend those five years wondering what had happened to me."

"Like I spent the two after you disappeared?"

He heard the censure in her voice and he didn't blame her. He had no real excuse for not trying to get word to her other than his own sense of self-preservation. "I talked to Steve about it. . ." He paused and took a sip of his coffee to give him time to think. "He didn't think it was safe to try to contact you."

"He thought I was still working with the authorities."

"The fallout from the Sokovia Accords and everything that happened with me made him a little paranoid. He was just trying to keep me safe."

YN took a deep breath and turned to look out the window. She understood why Bucky had made the decisions he'd made, and she was sure if she'd been in his shoes, she'd have made the same ones. But it still didn't make it any easier to hear. 

Turning back to him, she decided to change the subject. "So where were you for those two years?"

"Wakanda, believe it or not."

"Didn't the King think you had killed his father?"

Bucky nodded. "Which made it the perfect place to hide out."

"What did you do there?"

"I herded goats."

YN started laughing at his joke, but after a few moments, she realized he was serious. "Goats? Really?"

"They're fascinating creatures," he said with a wistful smile. "More affectionate than you'd think. But it gave me time to think—to remember what my life had been like." He met her gaze and saw the interest in her eyes. All she knew about him was most likely from a file S.H.I.E.L.D. had kept, so he understood her desire to know more—to fill in the missing pieces she'd gotten from their time in Bucharest.

"Wakanda is a quiet country. Peaceful and unhurried." Taking another sip of his coffee, he tried to figure out where to begin. "My life was always rushed, you see. Even as a kid growing up here in Brooklyn, I was always on the go. Steve was the one who knew how to take time and really live in the moment."

"Steve Rogers knew how to stop and smell the roses?"

"See, he couldn't do that, though," Bucky said with a smirk. "Allergies." He laughed at his own joke before continuing. "His physical limitations allowed him to stop and see the world from a different perspective. Did you know he was an artist before he became Captain America?"

"Really? What kind?"

"He liked to draw," Bucky said as his memories took him back to a simpler time. "He'd sit in the park and draw for hours while I was off playing baseball with the rest of the guys in our neighborhood. I thought I knew it all back then, but he was the one that saw the world for what it was."

"How is he now?" YN asked, one eyebrow raised hesitantly. "I mean, now that he's actually an old man."

"It's surreal," he answered after a bit. "I mean, we're both supposed to be over a hundred, but he actually looks it, while I. . .I still look like me." He shrugged and let out a sigh. "It's almost as if he was one of the ones we lost in the battle."

"How is everyone handling that?" YN almost hated to ask, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"I barely knew Stark," Bucky admitted. "But Nat. . ."

"I've read the files," YN told him as she glanced up at him from under her eyelashes. "You and she were. . .close?"

"I trained her in the Red Room, if that's what you mean."

"The Soldier trained her," YN corrected automatically.

"Me? Him? Does it matter?" His shoulders slumped as he remembered the young ballerina that had looked up at him like he'd hung the moon. "She became what she was because of me."

"A hero, you mean?" YN wasn't surprised when he looked up at her in shock. "Because that's what she is. That's all that anyone cares about right now. She sacrificed herself to help bring everyone back. No one cares about her past anymore." She reached across the table and laid her hands over his. "Just like no one cares about yours."

Bucky sat back and pulled his hands from beneath hers. It wasn't an outright rejection, but YN took the hint and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup again.

"I spent seventy years dancing to HYDRA's tune." He swore under his breath. "I can spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I've done, but I don't know if it’ll ever be enough."

YN knew he was wrong, but she wasn't sure if he was ready to hear that or not. But as she sat there and saw the guilt weighing heavy upon his shoulders, she realized it was time for her to tell him about her past. It was only fair, after all. He'd shared his with her, so he deserved to know the truth about her.

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_Author's Note: Thank you for reading Day 255 of my writing challenge! I hope you enjoyed it! Looking at the pictures in the prompt, were any of you surprised that the ballerina was Nat and the artist was Steve? I went back and forth on the dancer, but then I remembered Steve's words to Peggy in TFA about being a dancing monkey for the American military, and I knew it could only be Bucky. We've finally gotten these two back together, but there's still too many secrets for them to be able to move forward. We all know that she used to be an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but is that all there is to her story? I look forward to your comments, and if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging!_

She knew how hard it was to reveal parts of yourself that you'd kept hidden for so long. It was like peeling off layers of old, chipped paint—time consuming and exhausting—but in the end the original surface was usually something wonderful and it made people wonder why anyone would've covered it up in the first place.

Bucky was like that. Layers of guilt and shame had kept him buried for so long, but now that he was finally stripping them off, she could tell he was slowly remembering what he'd been like when he'd still been young and innocent.

"I told you I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," YN said once he'd finished telling her about his time in Wakanda.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. After the whole mess in DC, you decided to come hunting for me."

"I may not have been completely honest with you about that," she admitted as she watched his face carefully to see how he'd take her revelation.

His eyes narrowed. "You told me you wanted to be the person to take down the Winter Soldier. But then you got to know me and changed your mind."

"That's mostly true."

"Which parts?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but the words wouldn't come so she picked up her coffee instead and took a drink to give her some time to think. "I knew who you were before Natasha dumped the files on the internet."

"The Soldier?" he asked as he eyed her warily.

She shook her head. "No, you. Bucky Barnes."

"How?"

Fiddling with the cardboard sleeve around her cup, she tried to figure out the best way to tell him. "Peggy Carter was my mentor at S.H.I.E.L.D." Now that she'd said it out loud, she felt a sense of relief. It wasn't that it was a horrible secret to have, but for the entire time she'd known him, she felt like she'd had the upper hand since she knew things about him that most of the world wasn't privy to. That and the fact that he knew next to nothing about her.

"Peggy," he said with a smile and a chuckle. "I bet she put you through hell."

Relieved that he wasn't mad, she smiled along with him. "You'd know better than anyone." She sighed as she remembered the hard lessons Director Carter had instilled in her in the few short years she'd been allowed to work for her. "Peggy was on her way out when I joined, but her tenacity was probably just as strong as when you knew her."

"Wasn't she a little old to still be working?"

YN shook her head. "If it weren't for the Alzheimer's, I truly believe she'd have died at her desk." She glanced up at him with a sad look. "The disease is the reason I know so much about you."

"How so?"

"No one caught on for a while, but there'd be times when she'd start telling old war stories," YN explained. "We all thought she was trying to explain a strategy the Howling Commandos had used during WWII, but eventually we figured out that she was lapsing in and out of lucidity." She hung her head. "I can still remember the day Fury had to tell her that her career was over. Even in that moment, Peggy Carter was the classiest lady I've ever seen. She simply nodded her head, told us goodbye, and walked out of the door with her back ramrod straight."

"Sounds like Peggy."

"She talked about you and Steve a lot in those last few years," YN said as she smiled at him mischievously. "I've heard some stories about you that you probably don't want repeated."

He gave her a wary look. "Don't believe everything you've heard. Peggy had a flare for embellishment. I mean, have you seen the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian? That has Peggy's hand all over it."

"She loved you both," YN said, rolling her eyes at his attempt to downplay the shenanigans of his youth.

He nodded and sat back. "So what else haven't you told me? You're not some long-distance relation to Zola or Schmidt are you?"

"Me?" she asked as innocently as possible. "Nope. No hidden genealogies that would concern you."

"Who did you expect to find once you caught up with me in Romania?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure that I expected anything. I knew you were retracing your steps during the war, but I wasn't sure how much you remembered. Judging from the state Rogers was in after DC, I wasn't sure you remembered much at all. . ."

"Stupid punk," Bucky muttered under his breath. "The one damn fight he backs down from, and it almost gets him killed."

She tried to keep the smile off of her face, but she knew she was failing. "How is your memory these days?" 

"It's all there," he told her as he tapped his temple. "The King's little sister fixed me all up before things went to hell."

"That's good."

"Yeah," he agreed as he began to play with his empty coffee cup. "The world's still shit, but that's nothing new. But at least now I can remember when it's been worse."

"But you're working on fixing that, right?"

He tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. "What have you heard?"

She smiled and acted coy. "I might still have a few contacts in high places."

"Captain America still needs someone to watch his back," Bucky said.

"It'll be a little harder to do now that the Captain can fly."

"Dumbass bird," Bucky muttered. "If he gets blown out of the sky, it's not on me. That's all I'm saying." He brow furrowed for a moment before one eyebrow arched in question. "So, what's your next move?"

She didn't really know how to answer him. She'd spent four years of her life tracking him down, and now that she'd found him, she had no idea what to do next. She knew how she wanted things to turn out, but it would all depend on him. If he wanted to pursue what they'd started in Bucharest, she'd be more than willing to try, but if he was ready to move on, then she'd have to accept that and try to figure out what to do with her life. The world still needed heroes, and while she didn't have any super powers, she had a unique skill set that could be put to use doing something for the greater good.

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_Author's Note: Thank you for reading Day 275 of my writing challenge! I hope you enjoyed it! What did you think of that little twist I added in there? Wouldn't you have just loved to have heard stories about the Howling Commandos from Peggy Carter herself? Oh, the stories that woman could tell! Bucky seems to be taking all of these revelations in stride, but does he still feel the same way about her now that they're not in Bucharest anymore? That's a question for another prompt! I look forward to your comments, and if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging!_

_"So, what's your next move?"_

Bucky had asked the question a few moments ago, but she still wasn't sure how she wanted to answer. Her heart and mind were at odds again, and she felt that since she'd let her heart lead earlier, she should give her mind a turn. It was only fair after all.

But her heart was more powerful than her mind, and she found herself saying the one thing that scared her more than anything. "That depends on you."

His head tilted to the side suddenly as he tried to decipher her meaning. "Depends on me. . .how?"

Her nerves were a mess, and she felt her stomach start to turn over with worry. "You asked me to go with you once upon a time. . ."

"And then I disappeared," he finished for her with a grimace.

She wasn't sure what his expression meant. Was he embarrassed that he'd asked her to run away with him in Bucharest, or did he feel guilty for leaving without a word? Either option was plausible, but only one of them offered her even a hope of picking up where they'd left off. Still, she didn't want to seem needy, so she decided to play Devil's Advocate and let him make up his own mind.

"Things were different back in Romania," she offered, giving him an out if he wanted it.

He leaned forward and took her hands. "They were." He stared into her eyes for a moment as he took a few breaths. "It all happened on a Sunday, you know."

She gave him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"The moment I realized I couldn't keep ignoring you." He smiled at her. "It was a Sunday afternoon and you were struggling to get into your apartment."

She smiled as she remembered the day in question. "You held my groceries for me while I unlocked the door."

The smile on her face was the same as the one she'd worn that day, and Bucky found himself as captivated by it today as he had been all those years ago. "You invited me to dinner."

"It wasn't all that great." She scrunched up her nose as she recalled the meal.

"It was the best meal I'd had in years." He gave her hands a squeeze. "Best company as well."

She sighed heavily. "Our lives were simpler back then." She shrugged and rolled her eyes. "A whole lot more dangerous, but me and you? We were just two people trying to find our place in the world."

"Have you found it yet?"

Dropping her head, she glanced up at him. "I'm not sure. But it seems as though you have."

He let go of her hands and ran them through his hair. "I have a mission, but it's not a life. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Said the secret agent."

Taking the dig, she sat back and chuckled. "You're no better than me. Admit it."

He gave her a long look. "I want a life. I want more than just the next mission. I don't know if I deserve it, but it doesn't make me want it any less."

"I know what you mean."

"You were going to run with me," he reminded her. "You knew who I was, what I'd done, and you were still willing to throw it all away."

"There was nothing to throw away," she argued. "My life with S.H.I.E.L.D. had been a lie. The only real life I'd had since I'd joined the Academy was the few months I spent with you."

"But that was a lie as well."

"Was it?" He didn't answer, so she kept going. "We both kept secrets from each other, but in the end we were willing to put it all on the line. I may not have told you what I did for a living, but the person you knew was the real me." She paused for a beat. "And I'm pretty sure I got to know the real you."

"I don't want to run anymore."

"I'm not asking you to."

"What are you asking me for?"

She shook her head. "A chance? A chance to see if what we had was real, or if it was all an illusion we made up to deal with the circumstances we were living in."

"I don't think it was," he admitted softly.

"I don't either."

"I wasn't lying when I told you I look for your face in every crowd."

His words had hope swelling within her. "I might do that, too. . .every now and then, you know."

"Right," he said with a smile. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Well, first of all, I need to find a job."

"I might know some people," he offered with a lopsided grin. 

"Do you think it's smart to work together if we're doing. . ." She pointed a finger between her and him. ". . .this?"

"What could go wrong?"

Closing her eyes, she threw back her head and began laughing. "Famous last words, Barnes."

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_Author's Note: Thank you for reading Day 330 of my writing challenge! I hope you enjoyed it! Were you worried they'd decide not to give their relationship a chance? So much had happened since Bucharest, but in the end, love won out. How do you think working together is going to go? Especially with Sam always there as the third wheel? I think he and YN are going to be the best of friends which will only infuriate Bucky even more! I guess we'll see! I look forward to your comments, and if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging!_

YN put the jet on autopilot and went back to sit next to Bucky. He was lounging on one of the benches along the wall with his phone held in the air above his face. She sat down beside him and he scooted back so that his head was resting in her lap.

"Remind me again how you got Fury to give us time off at Christmas," he said as he looked up at her. "And how you convinced him to let us have a jet."

She smiled down at him and began running her fingers through his hair. "I reminded him of all the overtime we've been pulling lately—and the fact that we all missed Thanksgiving dinner due to his bad intel."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he remembered the three of them barging into someone's family get-together. "At least those people were nice enough to invite us to stay for dinner."

"They were scared we were going to kill them," YN said, shaking her head and laughing. "The old woman was offering us food in exchange for their lives."

"Well, that's one way to look at it."

"Speaking of looking," she said as she nodded toward his phone. "What are you looking at?"

"Stuff to do in Bucharest," he told her as he held up the phone for her to see. "There's a huge Christmas festival in the Constitutiei Square this year. They're going to have concerts, a bunch of different craftsmen, and an ice skating rink. Think Olga might want to go?"

"Can you see Olga ice skating?"

The two of them burst out laughing at the thought of their old landlady trying to navigate on ice skates.

"She'd like the food, though."

YN nodded in agreement. "Is she looking forward to our visit?"

Bucky grimaced. "She ranted and raved about me tearing the place apart the last time I was there, but in the end she promised to have an apple pie waiting on us."

"She loved you, you know."

He sat up and cupped her face with one hand. "Not as much as you do, though. Right?"

She leaned in and gave him a kiss. "Not even close."

Pulling her into his arms, he held the phone out for them both to see as he continued to scroll through the site. "I can't believe we're heading back to where it all began."

"It'll be fun to see the city from the eyes of tourists instead of fugitives on the run."

He nodded in agreement. "You've got a point." He looked at a few more pictures. "If things had been different, I think I could've made a life there." Glancing over he met her eye. "With you, of course."

Her heart filled with love as she smiled at him. "Yeah, that would've been nice." She glanced around at the Quinjet before looking back at him. "But I kinda like the life we have now."

"You like chasing after bad guys and almost dying everyday?"

"No," she said as she rolled her eyes and playfully slapped his arm. "I like knowing that we're making a difference in the world—that we're helping people."

He leaned over and kissed her temple. "Yeah, that part's okay. I just wish we didn't have to deal with Wilson."

"He's not that bad," YN said with an exasperated sigh. "You two just need to get over. . .whatever it is that makes you hate one another."

"And ruin all the fun?" Bucky scoffed. "Never."

"Whatever," she said as she rolled her eyes again. "But enough about Sam. Let's plan the rest of our vacation."

Bucky let her take the phone and begin making notes about which events she didn't want to miss, and which ones she thought Olga might like. It didn't matter to him what they did—he was just glad that he was going to spend an entire week with her in the city where they'd first fell in love. And he couldn't wait until Christmas morning when he would surprise her with the ring Sam had helped him pick out a few months back. He'd wanted to ask her to marry him the day he'd bought it, but then she'd mentioned the trip to Bucharest and he'd decided to wait. The city held so many memories for them, and it seemed fitting that it would also be where they began the next chapter of their lives.

** _~ The End ~_ **

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_Author's Note: Thank you for reading Day 349 of my writing challenge! I hope you enjoyed it! It's so sad to say goodbye to this story, but I think Bucky and the Reader are in a good place, don't you? Are you glad they're going to to back and see Olga for Christmas? How'd you think ring shopping went with Bucky and Sam? You know there had to be tons of snarky bickering and that poor salesperson was probably hoping they'd leave and never come back! I look forward to your comments, and if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging!_

_Below is a picture of Bucharest all decorated for Christmas. It was too pretty not to share!_


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